Rage of Heaven, Chapter Eight
by Hyaena
Summary: Septigram performs, and Atiranhyi makes what might be a critical mistake. Will her impertinence anger the Emperor? Coarse Language.


**8.**

**Ominous Convergences**

_I dream a world of cinders_

_Stone above my head._

_I cannot walk the surface_

_For all that lived, is dead._

_(Chorus) Anthem: My world lies bleeding_

_Dark Anthem: The sky blood red_

_Anthem: Stone scorched and blasted_

_Dark Anthem: We're walking dead._

_I walk a world in blossom_

_The sky blue, overhead_

_But I still remember_

_When all that lived, was dead,_

_(Chorus)_

_Ashes over ashes_

_The scars of war now fade._

_But what price have we offered_

_Have we our world betrayed?_

—Septigram, _Dark Anthem_

Friday, August 13, 2230

"_Branleur!_ Get the fuck out of my way!"

Atiranhyi sighed at the latest explosion of invective from the driver's seat of the airbus, and went back to poking at the set list for the concert they were to perform that evening. Truth be told, the _last_ place she wanted to be at the moment was caught in congestion over the sprawling towers and arches of Phoenix, Arizona. Usually, Étienne's foul mouth didn't trouble her; she could keep up with him, word for word, in both her languages of fluency and in his as well. But, worry weighed heavily on her mind. She worried that Étienne would get them into an accident, that he'd end up at fisticuffs with another driver, or that his reckless driving would draw the attention of the police.

Most of all, she worried that her spirited bassist would get her in trouble with the very people for whom Septigram would perform.

The passing years had only been kind to this band. Their seven albums had all gone platinum with more or less immediacy upon release, and they had become something of a force of nature in popular music. When she learned that the satellite broadcasts of their music had attracted fans among the Gamilons, the irony amused her. Atiranhyi had never thought there would be fallout from Septigram's popularity, but a development had arisen with which she simply could not reconcile herself.

The Gamilon Consulate in Phoenix was expecting a visit from none other than their Emperor, Desslok, and nothing would do for entertainment other than Terra's most influential and celebrated of musical groups. It had taken the pleas of Derek, Nova and their children to sway her when she initially refused.

"Ati, this is an opportunity to let go of the very baggage you say has bothered you for years. I've talked to some of those guys, they're not that bad. You have more abrasive people in your band," Alex had said.

"I know… I just don't like being told that I am expected to jump on command like this. It was almost as though we were given no choice in the matter—we were just told where to be and when to be there. We're a band, not a military or political entity."

"This is a serious milestone," Derek said. "This is the first time Desslok has ever set foot on actual Terran soil, and the treaty that's being signed is really critical. I know your feelings about… everything. But this permanent set of accords is aimed at there never again being tension between the Terran Federation and the Gamilon Empire. They _are_ our closest allies, after all."

"All right, all right, I'll do it," She had said, holding up one hand. "But I don't intend to let the President or Central Command ever get the idea that we're at their beck and call. I'll do this—but as a favor to_ you_, Derek. I understand that the Emperor is a friend of yours."

"Even when you can't imagine why?" Nova asked softly.

"Even then. It's none of my business, for one, and for another I know a lot has happened out there, things I won't ever be able to understand because I wasn't and cannot be a part of it. And that's all right. My place is on stage, not out in space."

"Good thing we don't try to trade places!" laughed Sasha. Her tin ear was a running family joke.

"No kidding, I bet I'd puke on the first spacewarp!"

So, the seven members of the band had been pulled off a post-tour vacation; none of them were particularly happy about it. For all their friendship and enjoyment of working together as Septigram, they were still individuals, still people with lives other than and outside of the band. The impending command performance had everyone on edge; they had never had to work under such circumstances. This, among other things, was leading Atiranhyi to be hypersensitive.

"Étienne, you get us pulled over, my size twelve is in your ass," she mentioned off-handedly.

"Size _twelve?_ You have some huge feet, Ati!" Msiba had sat bolt upright in her seat.

"We've known each other _how_ long and you're just now noticing that?" she laughed. "Besides… I'm over six feet tall, I _need_ these feet! Didn't you ever wonder why I never wear shoes on stage? That got started because, at first, I couldn't find shoes I liked in my size. Now it's a trademark."

They pulled in to the hotel in which they were being accommodated; Atiranhyi had insisted that they receive all the best in exchange for a full performance on such short notice. This meant that the Copper Skysuites—the most exclusive hotel in Phoenix—would be giving them a full hallway of their best rooms, as well as a private conference room in which to rehearse. They had tried, in fact, to get the Presidential penthouse, but had been told it was already booked.

None of them stopped to wonder just _who_ had booked it.

They had the bellboys act the roadie and move the various luggage and equipment to the places necessary, and then began to unpack and settle in. They would be playing in three days; they insisted on an entire week to cover potential delays as well as recuperation time. Performance as Septigram did it was quite physically demanding, a reason contributing to the discomfiture revolving around this concert. It was also a measure of satisfaction to them to make someone else haul the gear for once.

At last ensconced in her room, Atiranhyi kicked out of the sandals she had been wearing and did a back-flop onto the grand-king sized bed. She sighed, turning the situation around in her mind again, attempting to reconcile herself with performing for—and likely having to socialize with—Gamilons.

_Well, Mother, _she mused, _your damned target will be in sight. And my revenge will be to do nothing. At the same time… that will be an exquisite torment. I hope you watch from whatever hell I sent you to, and experience every bit of both._

Several hours later, the seven of them were in the conference room on their floor, with their instruments. Though they knew the music on what felt like a cellular level, they still rehearsed almost obsessively; it was a habit Atiranhyi had instilled in them, a carry-over from her years at Juilliard.

They had gotten about three songs into their set when a very panicked hotel manager hammered frantically on the door. They broke off, and Cody walked over to answer the door, drumsticks held loosely in one hand. The hard-bitten Inuit said nothing, merely lifting a multiply-pierced eyebrow at the man.

"You guys need to rehearse much more quietly," the manager said. He had an expression in his eyes much like that of a trapped rabbit. "You are disturbing the diplomatic party in the Presidential suite above you."

"You mean… the goddamn Gamilons are already here and are right the fuck over our heads?" Jilliandrea blurted out.

"_Merde!_ We got yanked off vacation for this bullshit; let them tolerate a little noise! The whole fucking bunch of them can kiss my hairy French ass!" Étienne said. To emphasize his point, he gave his base a little thump, with some reverb added.

"That is a suggestion I would not make to the Emperor."

All of them, including the manager, turned, startled, to face the door. Standing there was an immensely-tall, slender man with azure skin and dark eyes. He was clad in the deep green uniform of the Gamilon military. Looking them over, he gave his mustache a stroke, smiling just a little.

Atiranhyi's emotions at seeing her first Gamilon were mixed. She felt the rage rise within her like an angry cobra, but at the same time, she felt intimidated for the first time in many years. She had not realized how large and physically powerful they were. To cover her discomfort, she stepped forward, bare feet silent on the carpeting.

"My apologies. I am Atiranhyi Paoa Riroroko… I'm the frontwoman for the band. Please don't be offended by Étienne's… outburst. He's still a little upset at having a visit with his family cut short." She offered a hand, forcing it not to shake, and inwardly cursing her mother's indoctrination.

"I am General Talan; I am Emperor Desslok's aide. I don't mean to intrude, but His Imperial Majesty sent me down to ensure things went according to his will." Talan accepted her hand, his expression unreadable.

Atiranhyi stifled the urge to wipe her hand. The Gamilon's skin had felt strange to her—too warm and too smooth.

"We'll go to acoustics, then. But please ask His Majesty's pardon; we do have to do some rehearsal with the actual instruments at some point. Can you give an idea of his schedule so we know when he is likely not to be disturbed by some noise?" Privately, she wondered if the Gamilon Emperor would have the same reaction to the concert itself.

"Even I do not entirely know what the royal whims will be from one moment to another. I will do the best I can to convey your… professional concerns, Dr. Riroroko." With a short nod, he turned and swept from the room, his cloak sweeping against the doorframe. Atiranhyi winced at both the honorific and its implications; the Gamilons knew far more than she had suspected.

"Étienne… from now on keep the opinions to yourself. This may end up being an industrial-strength fuckup if that General decides to tell Emperor Desslok what you said." Her guts curdled a little at saying that name with the knowledge that its owner was so close.

"_C'est emmerdant," _he growled. "Fine. But I'm saying for the record that they need to understand whose fucking homeworld this is."

The day of the concert came at last; Atiranhyi could not remember seventy-two hours passing so slowly in all her lifetime. The feeling of walking on eggshells with doom literally overhead had done nothing for any of their nerves; she had already had to break up a shouting match between Étienne and the usually-silent Cody. She threw herself into the work of helping to set up the soundstage; unlike most bands, Septigram relied on roadies and automated lifters as little as possible. As a whole, they felt that the handling of their instruments in preparation for a concert should be their sole responsibility.

As she was adjusting the soundboard, she saw the door open and then close out of the corner of her eye. Knowing that there was more than ample security posted around the concert hall, Atiranhyi chose to ignore the interruption. When a voice sounded behind her, she jumped, dropping the headphones she had been holding against one ear.

"May I watch, Doctor? Just for a while?" The tone was wistful, but the voice was Gamilon. Atiranhyi whirled around to see a tall young man with nearly white, shoulder-length hair, a shocking contrast to his blue skin. His eyes were a pale green and were focused on her with an unblinking intensity.

"You may, as long as you don't call me Doctor." She forced a smile. "I don't use that; I'm primarily a performer and formalities make me feel awkward. Atiranhyi's fine." She offered a hand, absently wondering if their entire race would make her feel short. It was unnerving to contemplate.

"I am Lieutenant Valas, but you don't have to use _my_ rank, either." He broke into a surprisingly pleasant smile. "I've been listening to you since that concert you broadcast, supporting _Spheres and Energies._ I think I may be the one that got so many of the rest of us listening to you. I still have that concert on vid."

She felt taken aback; part of her wanted to be very, very angry at this man, who was at least partially responsible for this command performance. But, seeing the shy enthusiasm in his eyes made her relent; the fault in this was not his. All Valas had done was share music he loved with his companions—which was a thing Atiranhyi understood very well.

"That's amazing, Valas. I never thought our popularity would extend so far. Please… feel free to sit down. This bit is a little boring, though; all I'm doing is setting up this soundboard for the acoustics in this hall." She smiled again, this one slightly less forced.

"To some, it might be boring," he answered, eyes dancing. "But… I'm a communications officer. And I've never seen a Terran PA system."

She couldn't help but laugh. "So _that's_ how you got a lock on that concert, all those years ago!" She was surprised at how much his friendly manner had done to ease her discomfort.

She returned to the task at hand, picking up the headphones. When she had what seemed to be a good balance, she glanced at Valas. She felt the young man deserved some sort of recognition for reaching out as he had.

"Valas, I wonder if you'd feel up to helping me get a sound check done. I can do it from here, but I'd prefer to work with a mic on stage as opposed to the middle of the hall. Do you think you can manage a couple of minor changes on the board if they're needed?"

Valas' pale eyes lit up with delight. "Really? I'd be deeply honored to help you, Atiranhyi." His voice softened as he spoke her name, as though merely saying the name of his idol made him shy. His pronunciation of her name was correct, though his accent made it sound a little strange.

"All right, let me get up there." She strode to the stage and vaulted up to its surface, agile as a cat. Valas just stared in open-mouthed awe. She then slipped the headset microphone on. "You know how to check acoustics, right?"

"Mostly for things like oratory. I've never done it for music."

"I have most of the serious work done; all I want you to do is adjust to make sure we don't have any weird slapback or other flaws in the sound."

Atiranhyi then began singing some scales, pausing between them to direct Valas in fine-tuning the soundboard. His eyes were even wider; it seemed that just listening to simple vocal exercises was enough to engender awe in him.

"Ati, Ewa wants to know if you have an extra pickup, she doesn't think she… whoa. Company." Kharzon stood in the doorway, a large crate in his arms, nervously looking at Valas.

"Kharzon, this is Valas. He's actually been a big help… considering you guys were out there farting around… "she grinned.

Valas snickered at the mild expletive, looking almost as delighted as he had at her voice.

"There was no farting around. It's gone right to jackin' off and being lazy." Kharzon caught the mood with a broad grin.

"I need to learn some more foul language in English," Valas said, setting the headphones down.

"Gods… have you ever come to the right place. You'll get all kinds of Terran swear words in some pretty obscure languages." Atiranhyi leapt lightly off the stage to move out of Kharzon's way.

The other band members began to filter in, evincing various degrees of surprise at Valas' presence. The young Gamilon's warm manner put even the bellicose Étienne at ease, however. By the end of the setup, the French bassist had given Valas a backstage pass that read 'Sleazy Septigram Groupie' on the back. Valas was utterly delighted, pinning it to his uniform at once.

As they were getting ready to prepare themselves for the performance, Cody turned to Valas with a shrewd look in his dark eyes.

"Now that I think of it, Valas," he said, "we _could_ use at least one Gamilon with the security crew. I'm sure there are those among you that don't speak English, and it would prove helpful to have you in the event of an emergency. Would you be willing to help out here in the auditorium?" Cody, most often in charge of making security arrangements, tended to use whatever resources he came across. He had decided that Valas was to be no exception.

Valas looked absolutely ecstatic at the suggestion. "I have leave tonight to attend the concert. I'd love to help out in any way I can."

"Good. See you here about an hour before stage time and I'll give you a rundown." Cody favored him with one of his rare half-smiles and then turned to leave with the others as they filtered out of the auditorium. As they left, Valas darted at top speed through the door from which he had entered, looking as excited as a child promised a long-awaited outing.

_He's a _kidAtiranhyi thought, watching him. _More innocent, in his way, than I ever had a chance to be._

The realization that she envied him was a strange matter to contemplate.

Several hours later, they watched on backstage monitors as the audience began to filter into the auditorium. First, of course, was the royal party. Atiranhyi leaned forward, gazing at them intensely. She easily picked out the Emperor from among his assorted aides and bodyguards.

Desslok of Gamilon was tall, even for his own kind. There was a coldly-regal manner about him, almost as though he were deigning to attend this concert rather than deal with more important duties. His blond hair brushed the back of his collar, and his pale-silver eyes trailed over the auditorium with an air of irritated ennui. At his side, General Talan solicitously made sure the Emperor was seated comfortably before taking his position behind and to the left of his chair. Once they were settled, the rest of those waiting were permitted entry.

As the house lights began to dim, Atiranhyi felt a thing she had not experienced in many years: the quiver of nervousness borne of stage fright. She drew in a few calming breaths to dispel it and did a section of one of the katas taught to her by Deema. Once she felt centered again, she picked up her headset and slipped it on.

The first song was to be the Terran planetary anthem, sung completely _a cappella _by Atiranhyi alone. This would then segue smoothly into the anthem of the Gamilon Empire; she had practiced the transition over and over again. She hoped it would emerge as perfectly on stage as it had in rehearsal.

Following the cue given by a small bit of luminescent tape upon the stage, she assumed her place in nearly complete darkness, knowing the audience could see nothing. Atiranhyi wore only a sleek, glossy catsuit of black leather, her feet bare other than the catsuit's stirrups that curved beneath the arches of her feet. Her hair, now brushing the back of her calves, was loose in a raven torrent; it needed no further adornment. Once in position, she spread her arms, and her contralto voice emerged, clear and true.

Her worries vanished with the first note; from the moment she began to sing, she knew she would be 'on' for this performance. The segue to the Gamilon Imperial Anthem was as perfect as ever she had done it, and she did not falter over its strange Gamilon syllables. From the sound of the cheers and cries of acclaim, nearly half her audience tonight was Gamilon; a fact that surprised her. As the last notes faded, and the lights came up, she received what would be the first of many standing ovations that night.

She looked out, across the crowd to where the royal party was seated… and something in her went a little jagged. Her eyes met those of the Emperor, and suddenly, the rage was in her again. This time, neither Talan's professionalism nor Valas' easygoing friendliness could mollify it. She found herself breaking the order of play, adding something that no one—either in the band or in her family—would willingly have allowed her to perform, had they known her intent.

Still _a cappella, _she launched into the eerie, terrible beauty of Dark Anthem—the worst possible choice under the circumstances. Through each cutting verse, Atiranhyi held the Emperor's gaze, close enough to see the expression upon his elegant features, daring him to rise and challenge her, to give her reason to give vent to all that lay within her, and lay her fury at his feet. But, yet again, a Gamilon was to surprise her.

It was not fury that lay within the pale silver eyes—it was sorrow, though the expression did not spread from his gaze. She did, however, notice that his white-gloved hand gripped the arm of his seat as though he intended to sink his fingers into the metal.

Finishing the song, she took a step back as the others assumed their places on stage. There was explosive applause, even despite the inflammatory nature of the ballad. She then arched her back, fluidly lifting her arms; slowly lowered to her by a small grav-beam was a harp—but what a harp!

The harp, a double-strung concert grand modified with pickups and effects, was built to have almost as great a visual effect as an auditory one. The soundboard was lighted with a violet glow, and the harmonic curve was illuminated in scarlet. The sculpting of the entire body had an unsettling, biomechanical look to it. The crown of the harp was capped by the image of a snarling hyena with crystal teeth; the interior of its jaws was lit in green. This harp had been built to unsettle as much as to entrance, and the gasp of the crowd proved that it had struck home. She eased back onto a gravity-pad she knew would be activated and rested the ball of her foot upon the pedals of the harp. And again, Atiranhyi began to sing.

Septigram did no less than five sets that night; this was not counting the three encore songs brought about by the nearly-violent standing ovation and shouts from the crowd. Valas had to take action to prevent his fellow shipmates and officers from vaulting onto the stage and following when the curtain at last dropped, and the spell was broken. So great was the danger of a mob scene that both the band and their instruments had to be evacuated via a hidden underground passage. The after-party would have to be held on the floor that housed them, for reasons of safety.

"Fuck, Valas, are your people always that… enthusiastic?"

They had made it without incident to the suites they occupied; their instruments were cased and locked away in case the after-party got out of hand as well. Valas had been admitted into the hospitality suite as soon as he was able to get away from his security detail. He had changed to civilian clothes and sat, easy and relaxed, as though it mattered not at all that he was the only Gamilon in the room. He grinned at Jilliandrea's question.

"We never do anything by halves. And the concert was fantastic!" He would have said more, he heard a frantic knock in the door; the same hotel manager had been admitted by security.

"What the fucking hell is it _this_ time?" Étienne snapped. He had had more than his share to drink.

"I have to talk to Ms. Riroroko, _right now,"_ yelped the manager. "The Emperor— "

"Let me handle it." Valas had overheard what was happening; he stood and headed toward the door. He looked frightened himself, but not so much so that he wouldn't at least make an attempt to defuse the situation. Because he had been seated in the other room of the suite, the manager had not seen him until that moment. He leapt aside, as though afraid to touch him.

After both had left, a nervous Atiranhyi collapsed into a chair, running shaking hands through hair still damp from her shower. She had still been in the bathroom when the manager arrived; Ewa had brought her the news.

"Looks like either we woke Sleeping Beauty up again… or maybe _Dark Anthem_ came back to bite you in the ass," Cody said. "I told you to leave that off the list for a reason, Ati. This is one time when you seriously should have listened."

"Spare me the lecture, Cody," she snapped. "I'm sure Derek'll be more than happy to provide one, and at least he's family."

"Listen," Msiba cut in. "Having a huge argument isn't going to rewrite the evening. We're going to have to deal with whatever fallout comes from whatever the Emperor's problem is, and leave it at that. At least we don't have a bunch of EDF functionaries crawling up our collective ass."

"Yet." Cody's expression was sour.

"Will you just chill the fuck out?" Ewa looked equal parts frightened and angry. "Maybe you ought to—" She broke off when the door to the suite opened, and Valas stepped back inside. The expression of near-panic on his face was not comforting.

"He wants to see you, Atiranhyi. Alone."

"Bullfuckinggoddamn_shit!_" The snarl from Cody made everyone jump; it was the first time anyone had ever heard him raise his voice. "There's no way in _hell_ I'm letting her go up there without some kind of backup."

"Come on, he's not going to attack a Terran citizen over a song, no matter what the content. The man's not an idiot," Kharzon said.

"I'll do it." Atiranhyi's voice was subdued.

"You can't just—" Cody began, but Atiranhyi suddenly shouted over him.

"I'll do whatever the fuck I goddamn well feel I need to do, Cody! You're not my fucking father! Even Derek doesn't order me the hell around like this!" Modulating her tone, she turned to a very wide-eyed Valas. "Tell His Majesty I will be up as soon as I'm in something more presentable than a bathrobe." With that, she turned and walked out the door and down the hall to her room.

Valas drew a deep breath and left again, to bring the news to the Emperor.

In her room, Atiranhyi was sorting over the clothes she had brought with her. The last thing she wanted was anything tight or suggestive; at worst, Desslok might take it as disrespect, and at best, an invitation she certainly did not wish to extend. Her lack of footwear was something about which she could do nothing; the sandals in which she had traveled were dusty, clunky and worn. She would have to appear barefoot before him, just as she had on stage. At last, biting her lip, she settled on a flowing robe with deep, batwing sleeves and a hood, in red-shot black silk. It was caught in at the waist with an ornate cincher of black leather. It was the only garment she had with her whose hem was long enough to hide her bare feet, and which would be modest enough to be suitable. And then, she simply waited.

She didn't wait long. There was a sedate knock at the door; she opened it to find Talan, regal and distant-looking in his uniform.

"His Majesty will see you now. This way, please." Crisply he led her down the hall, to the lift opposite the one she usually used. This one had access to the Presidential suite. She drew deep breaths to keep herself from fidgeting.

Talan walked with her as far as the double doors leading from the hallway into the suite, but clearly had no intention of going further. Two large guards stood at each side of the doorway; they snapped to attention, but otherwise were as expressionless as automatons. One of them opened the right-hand door. It seemed to beckon her, the rooms beyond dimly lit and very warm. Atiranhyi drew one more deep breath and then stepped inside. She couldn't help but jump a bit when she heard the door click closed behind her.

Her bare feet were silent in the deep pile of the carpets; it was with some irony that she noticed that the Presidential penthouse would have been too small for the band and their instruments. Slowly, she stepped forward, toward the spill of slightly brighter light emerging from an open doorway; she assumed that this was where the Emperor was waiting for her. She clenched her jaw, drew her hood a little more closely and turned into the room, steeling herself.

Desslok sat, in graceful indolence on a chaise-lounge. He had changed from his uniform and was just as barefoot as she; he was clad in a simple, loose tunic and trousers, both in black. He did not speak; merely stood and offered a hand. She stepped forward, accepting it, awed as her own hand was dwarfed by his. She had never in her life felt so _small._ He guided her to sit beside him and then trained his pale silver eyes upon her; long moments slipped by, and she repressed a shiver.

"So," he said, finally breaking the silence. "I could not help but notice the… _interesting_ song you chose to perform, right after my anthem." His voice was softer and lighter than she had expected; he spoke in a silky baritone.

"Your Imperial Majesty, you may not be aware of this… but I have… some issues left from what happened when our peoples were at war. I acted impulsively when I performed _Dark Anthem_ tonight, and I apologize." She felt as though she were babbling, but her words were sincere; she was indeed sorry she had provoked the current situation to come to pass.

"There are many people, I'm sure, that suffer the same burden. You, however, have the unique opportunity to speak for them all." Never did those silver eyes release her own. "Speak; I shall listen."

"May I ask a question first?"

"Of course," Desslok said, leaning back and relaxing.

"I noticed that your General Talan knew that I… technically can be addressed as 'Dr. Riroroko', though I never use it. May I ask how much you know about me, Your Majesty?" Inside her sleeves, her hands fidgeted over each other; she could feel the dampness in her palms, born of nervousness.

"I know that you are the last of two peoples: one is the Rapa Nui. As I understand, that island took a direct hit by a planet bomb and was vaporized. For that, I express my deepest regrets. And, you are also the last surviving being that carries the blood of Iscandar within her. There was one other like you, a similar hybrid of human and Iscandarian, but she died years ago, in a selfless sacrifice that saved many lives."

"How… how do you know…" She swallowed hard, unable to complete the thought.

"Your uncle has told me much about you. Wildstar is as deeply proud of you as he is of his own children, and so is his wife."

Atiranhyi's stomach did a slow flip; she was unsure whether she should thank Derek for making this conversation easier, or rail at him for telling her potential foe so much about her past. She shoved the thought aside; she could only deal with Derek and Nova if and when she got out of this suite alive. Desslok's unpredictability and violent temper were the stuff of legend.

"Well…" She gathered her thoughts around her like the ragged train of a skirt. "I… had a very difficult time, in the year in which I matured. My mother… she gave birth to me, intending that I become a weapon in the event that the mission of the Argo should fail. She bore me as a weapon against _you, _Your Majesty."

_Might as well just get it right out there,_ she thought. _If he doesn't already know, he's all too likely to wheedle that much out of Derek, just as he did the rest._

"Interesting." Desslok made no further comment; just gestured for her to continue.

"When I was the equivalent of eight years old… my mother… died." She cursed herself for that hesitation, but went on regardless. "I had to live on the streets, by my wits. I was always moving from city to city, however I could, lest someone realize the rate at which I was growing. It was… a difficult existence, as you can imagine."

"Your mother died," he echoed slowly. There was a shrewd glint in his eyes. "I'm certain there is more to it than you are telling me, but I will allow it to lie where it is, for the moment. You may continue."

"I was arrested, when I looked to others to be fourteen. I had stolen some cash and a small computer… they traced the computer and found me. By that point, I had managed to learn of the tie Derek had to me via marriage, and simply refused to speak to anyone other than him. When they refused to allow that, I let them just… watch me grow. He was told about me within a couple of months, and became my guardian." Her fidgeting had extended to the hem of her sleeve, bunching it and then spreading it. She stopped when she noticed what she was doing.

"The rest of the story, I know. I know of the troubled, violent young woman that learned discipline at Juilliard. I know of your actions during the attack of the Gatlantians. I applaud you in the winning back of your life from adversity." A slight smile curved Desslok's lips. "It's not easy to achieve such a thing; I know this from experience."

"Your Majesty," she faltered. "Why… did you call me here tonight?" Atiranhyi had tried to keep the question back, but it emerged anyway, born of fear.

"I merely wanted to meet the woman of whom I have heard so much," he answered. "Also, I wished to commend you and your troupe on your performance. I did not want to smother your festivities under formality—which would have been the outcome had I tried to attend."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." It was the only thing she could think of to say in response.

"I need to rest, now. But… you _will_ see me again, Atiranhyi. Talan will escort you back to your friends. And do not worry about the noise; it will not trouble me this evening."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she repeated. She suppressed any reaction to the chill she felt at his insistence that they would meet again. She then rose, her robes rustling, and left Desslok to his evening's relaxation.

Talan was waiting at the doors for her; in silence, he escorted her back to the band's floor, bidding them all a good evening. Atiranhyi was at once mobbed by her bandmates.

"What happened?" Msiba demanded. She elbowed Kharzon, who had shoved her.

"You look like you saw a ghost, Ati," Ewa said. "He threaten you or anything?"

And then everyone else began shouting questions at once, until Atiranhyi finally held her hands up for silence.

"Seems he just wanted to meet me. He wasn't angry about _Dark Anthem_ at all. There's only one thing he said that worries me… he said that I will see him again." She wandered over to a loveseat and artlessly plopped into it. She freed her hair from her hood and let it fall about her, caring nothing for how disheveled she looked.

"Having the favor of the Emperor can be a two-edged blade," Valas said softly. "If he is saying he wants to see you again, you definitely have his attention… but not even we Gamilons can ever really predict what he'll do."

"In other words… if she doesn't manage to keep Desslok's favor, he might kill her." Cody looked distinctly displeased, as did Étienne.

"That's very doubtful, considering her Iscandarian blood," said Valas. "But, again… I have no idea what all this means. I'll do what I can to help, though"

"Do _not_ get yourself in trouble with your Emperor, Valas." Ewa's hands were perched on her hips.

"I have no intention of it. But I feel like I'm partly at fault for all this happening in the first place. I was the one that told the Consulate what to do for entertainment."

"Thanks, Valas. Thanks _loads." _Jilliandrea shook her head, feigning annoyance.

"Hey, only the best of the best for the Emperor; he insists on it," he grinned.

"Well, he'd better not _insist_ on anything improper that involves any of us," Cody said. "Especially Ati."

"I'm sure this will all work out in the end. Anyway… Ati looks as tired as I feel; I'm going to bed. And I think the rest of us should, as well."


End file.
